


A yellow dress and a brush

by MissKinky (MissMV)



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Mansfield Park - All Media Types, Mansfield Park - Jane Austen
Genre: 19th Century, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, F/F, Fantasizing, First Time, Lesbian Sex, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, Porn With Plot, Sexual Fantasy, Vaginal Fingering, imitating jane austen's style is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:06:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26000857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMV/pseuds/MissKinky
Summary: Fanny Price, much to her dismay, finds herself in Mary Crawford's bedchamber, thinking about her cousin as Miss Crawford undresses.
Relationships: Mary Crawford/Fanny Price
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	A yellow dress and a brush

Mrs. and Dr. Grant were away from the parsonage –Miss Crawford had failed to mention the fact. Fanny was ready to turn around and go back up to her uncle’s house, much too aggravated with the impropriety of the situation, when Miss Crawford held her arm and begged her to stay a little longer. “She had been desperately lonely since Henry had went away and would love the company of a dear, _young_ friend in such a moment of distress.” Fanny noted the emphasis of the word and, though she regretted the jab at the Grants, she agreed to stay, more to provide some comfort to Miss Crawford than because she truly wished to. Miss Crawford smiled, and Fanny was glad she could be of some use.

The sky grew dark and rain began pouring about hour later, the parlor where the women sat chilling slightly. “It is getting cold, is it not Miss Price?” Miss Crawford asked. Fanny replied that indeed it was, but nothing she could not tolerate. “Well, _I_ certainly cannot,” Miss Crawford continued. “You know, whenever it rains like this I prefer to sit in my own room, for its smaller size allows the fire to thoroughly warm it.” Fanny nodded in silence, glancing at the parlor’s fire, which would undoubtedly warm the ladies soon enough. Miss Crawford eyed Fanny intently and said, “In fact, Miss Price, I have been meaning to ask for your advice regarding an old gown of mine. You see, I am not sure it fits me anymore, but I would not wish to ruin the fabric too much by altering it. It is very delicate silk, you know.”

Much to Fanny’s distress, Miss Crawford had insisted she accompany her to her chamber, where they would be warmer and could discuss such a dress; Fanny had only, reluctantly, agreed because Miss Crawford appealed to her sense of duty– she could not deny help to a friend in need, however trifling the need was.

Miss Crawford’s room was indeed small, with a canopy bed in the middle and a blazing fire right in front of it; Fanny could not deny the room was indeed warmer than the parlor. Miss Crawford locked the door behind her and pulled out the dress in question, a pale-yellow thing, very soft and perhaps very expensive. It looked just right to Fanny, but Miss Crawford insisted it was truly not her size, “and her friend would need to see her in it to cast her judgement.” So, in the blink of an eye, Miss Crawford had doffed her dress and stood in her petticoat in front of Fanny, who was utterly in dismay.

Miss Crawford did not stop there, however. No, she insisted that “the dress would absolutely not fit her. In any case, it would much better fit Miss Price’s body than her own; perhaps they could compare shapes to decide?” Fanny blinked, unsure of what the meaning of _that_ could possibly be and unable to utter a word to ask. In lieu of a spoken answer, Miss Crawford simply continued her undressing process, doffing her petticoat, then her stays, then her chemise, until her stockings were the only item of clothing still on her body.

Her body. Fanny Price had never seen a bare body before; looking down at her own, in fact, caused her too much shame, so she avoided it as much as possible. Yet, she could not look away from Miss Crawford’s confident figure: her flesh was rosy, her limbs long, her– her _breasts_ bigger than the stays suggested; her hips were round and full, and she had a tuft of light brown hair right on her mound.

Fanny swallowed and took a shaky breath, feeling suddenly too hot from her head to her feet, although she was unsure whether it was because of the fire. She wanted to leave, run away back to Mansfield and pray, but her feet were stuck to the wooden floor; they were nonresponsive still, as Miss Crawford approached Fanny with a grin and a particular twinkle in her eye. “What think you, Miss Price?” she asked, taking Fanny by the hand, and leading her closer to the bed. Fanny thought many things, none of which where coherent at all, and far too many of which involved her friend’s body. She was ashamed, of course, of such impure thoughts, but she knew not how to cast them away; her mind stopped completely when Miss Crawford caressed her cheek and asked, very quietly, “if she may undress her too.”

Fanny was unsure if she had replied, but in a moment, Miss Crawford’s delicate hands were unbuttoning and unfastening, lifting and removing: too soon, her gaze was traveling up and down Fanny’s bare body, taking in every curve and angle. As she felt Miss Crawford’s eyes assessing her, Fanny’s cheeks and ears felt hot, but somewhere else too– a familiar heat grew in between her legs, a sensation only aroused in her when Edmund looked her deep in the eyes. This could not be though, could it? It was Miss Crawford looking at her, another woman, it was her friend, a lady–

Kissing her. Miss Crawford held Fanny’s face and kissed her intently. Fanny wanted to push her away, but she did not; instead, she– she kissed her back. This was all new to her and she was unsure of what to do, but she dared not stop; she did not want to stop. Fanny craved Miss Crawford, her lips, her embrace, her hands, and she could not justify why; she felt guilty, wrong, yet she also felt _so good._

Miss Crawford felt this craving, so she kissed harder, parting Fanny’s lips and inserting her tongue in her mouth. Her hands began wandering, down her back, her hips, her bum; with one hand, she grabbed one of Fanny’s breasts, fondling it. When Miss Crawford pinched her nipple, an ardent moan escaped Fanny’s lips; her friend pulled away, and Fanny was embarrassed, afraid she had done something wrong. But Miss Crawford’s mouth twitched, and in a moment she was sucking on Fanny’s nipple while her fingers pinched the other, eliciting loud, hungry moans from Fanny, who could feel the wetness between her legs almost run down her thighs.

Miss Crawford knew what she was doing, Fanny could not deny. When she pushed Fanny down on the bed, she asked “if she would allow her to pleasure her,” to which Fanny, after a short internal deliberation in which the pleasant feeling of sore nipples overshadowed the conflict of its morality, nodded yes. “Worry not, Miss Price,” said Miss Crawford, “I’ll be gentle.”

She commanded Fanny to lie flat on her back, hands at her sides; she then spread Fanny’s legs, who gasped at the crudeness of the position, embarrassed that her wetness had to be exposed so. Miss Crawford smiled and kneeled between Fanny’s legs: she extended a hand, and just like that, touched Fanny’s sex. She gasped again and squirmed, unfamiliar with the sensation and suddenly unsure whether she wanted to continue. Miss Crawford shushed her, stroke her leg, said, “Please, Miss Price, I promise your pussy will feel immensely good.” The lascivious word quieted Fanny, who lay still and closed her eyes, waiting, then, for the pleasure her friend had promised.

Miss Crawford began by rubbing a spot Fanny did not know existed; as soon as her fingers where on it, Fanny _did_ feel good. She began moaning softly, trying to imagine where this spot was, so that she could maybe touch it again on her own. The tip of Miss Crawford’s fingers where now at the entrance of her hole, where she knew she was most wet: Miss Crawford ran her fingers through that wetness, and slowly slid one inside Fanny. She gasped and shot open her eyes, surprised when Miss Crawford started pumping the finger in and out of her. There was no friction, no pain, no sort of discomfort; “Another one?” her friend asked, and Fanny, eager, nodded.

The two fingers inside her – _pussy_ – felt a bit tight, but so good; they pumped in and out or felt around inside her, touching a place that gave Fanny a jolt of pleasure. When she thought this was what Miss Crawford had intended to give her, she felt a thumb rubbing again that spot on the outside, and her moans returned, more intense than ever. Fanny’s eyes were tight shut again, her hands grabbing at Miss Crawford’s bedspread, waves of heat spreading from where the fingers were fast at work. “Another!” Fanny moaned, surprised at her own daring; Miss Crawford did not put another finger in, removing her first two instead, giggling.

“I have got a better idea,” Miss Crawford said and went to her dresser, leaving Fanny spread and gasping on the bed, shame slowly creeping up now that she was not being touched. She rose on her elbows to see as Miss Crawford came back with a brush: holding out the handle, which was thick and round, Miss Crawford smirked at Fanny, a devilish look in her eye. Fanny understood her friend’s intention and tried to protest, but Miss Crawford persuaded her again, touching her sensitive spot and saying that “the brush would prepare her for the real thing, silly. It was good to have some practice before her wedding night. She had used it plenty of times herself.”

Half convinced, Fanny nodded, choosing to watch what her friend would do this time, thinking that she might replicate the movements and touches in her bedroom or in the East room. Miss Crawford spread Fanny’s legs farther apart and massaged her in between before slowly penetrating her with the thick brush; Fanny panted and whimpered as the object buried inside her. It felt tighter than the fingers and it hurt a little, but it was a good kind of pain –moans mixed with her whimpers. Once the brush’s handle was fully inside Fanny, Miss Crawford paused, allowing Fanny’s inexperienced pussy to adjust to the size; her pussy clenched around the handle and Fanny was surprised at how perfectly she could feel its length and width, and she wondered if Edmund would feel like that too. Embarrassed at her thoughts, she avoided Miss Crawford’s gaze, which she could feel intently fixed on her flushed face, and focused only on the brush moving slowly in and out of her, whimpering softly yet savoring every second.

Miss Crawford increased the speed gradually, penetrating Fanny with one hand and stretching to pinch a hard nipple with the other, lapping and biting eagerly at the second nub. Still holding herself up on her elbows, Fanny let her head hang, closing her eyes, and panting as the heat spread through her body again. The image of Edmund’s dark eyes flashed in her mind and, for a long moment, Fanny could imagine it was her cousin penetrating her and biting her; this thought made her back arch as a burst of ecstasy ran up her spine: Edmund’s moaned named escaped her lips.

Miss Crawford giggled against the skin of her breast, “Oh? Is that who you think of?” She giggled again. “That is alright. You can pretend I am him if you wish… cousin Fanny.” Fanny fell back down on the bed, ashamed, yet grateful Miss Crawford was so disposed to take part in her fantasy. Her friend, amused at the idea of pleasuring Fanny in the play-pretend part of Edmund Bertram, let go of her nipples and began thrusting the brush into Fanny’s pussy harder and faster, grunting and clenching her own thighs. With her left hand, she once again rubbed at that magical spot that had Fanny’s legs shaking in a moment –Fanny could hardly believe a sensation like this could ever be possible; her moans would surely be heard all through the house, but it was impossible to care.

Miss Crawford was having plenty of fun watching Fanny shake and writhe and moan, and she wanted to make her peak: she rubbed faster, pumped deeper, and spoke words she was sure would push Fanny over the edge. “You’re so good, cousin Fanny,” Miss Crawford performed. “Come for me, little cousin, say my name. I love you, Fanny, I love having you. I promise to fuck you every day, cousin Fanny, if you come for me now.”

The words worked like a charm: Fanny found it easy to imagine her cousin inside her, though it was Miss Crawford’s voice speaking. The spot Miss Crawford was rubbing felt hotter than ever, her pussy tightened around the brush, and a fiery sensation made her whole body jolt. Fanny sucked in a breath as the most wonderful feeling of ecstasy overwhelmed her, making her mind go fuzzy and her ears ring. She wanted to scream Edmund’s name, but it was hard to breathe; her legs spasmed and her arms trembled.

At last the moment passed and Fanny collapsed on the bed, panting hard and feeling weak. She felt the brush exiting her and Miss Crawford’s soft hands caressing her thigh; “Well done, Miss Price,” her friend whispered with a giggle and got up. Fanny could barely open her eyes, so she remained on the bed, legs spread, heart throbbing, and pussy aching. When she could sit up and breathe normally again, Miss Crawford was already dressed, donning the yellow dress that had brought them to her bedchamber; “Well, will you look at that, Miss Price? It appears to fit just fine!” Miss Crawford exclaimed and, winking at Fanny, left the room.

Fanny dressed herself, desperate to leave the parish, mortified at what had just happened –how would she look her cousin or her friend in the eye ever again? She could never leave the East room. With this in mind, Fanny took Miss Crawford’s thick-handled brush, and headed there.


End file.
